Alone in the Crowd Page 2

  Lynne knew she wasn't kidding herself. She was just being objective. Every time she looked in the mirror, she felt like crying. Everything about her was so plain—plain light brown, kinky hair. A blah-looking complexion. Her nose was a shade too long, her chin a touch too prominent. When all the other girls had filled out in seventh or eighth grade, getting curves in the right places, Lynne had just gotten taller and thinner. She towered over most of the girls in her class, which always made her feel like some kind of freak. No wonder she slumped. Her mother was forever telling her to stand up straight, as if there were nothing wrong with being five foot ten in her stocking feet.

  Lynne heaved an enormous sigh as the bus lurched out of the parking lot. She was thinking that it was easy for her mother to talk. Her mother was tall, too, but she also happened to be breathtakingly beautiful—slender, graceful, with silky black hair always cut in the most glamorous current style. It was just too depressing for words. To make matters worse, her mother had made a career out of glamour. She was the manager of the Silver Door, an elegant health club in a neighboring town. Day after day, Jade Henry dealt in beauty—creams, lotions, exercise equipment, saunas, make-overs.

  Lynne knew her mother was disappointed in her. Who could blame her? Jade Henry had everything: wit, charm, good looks, a million friends. How could she help but wish her daughter were a little more like her?

  Lynne had inherited only one trait from her glamorous mother: her almond-shaped, gold-flecked green eyes. Unfortunately Lynne was nearsighted, so her beautiful eyes were barely visible behind her thick glasses. "Get contact lenses," her mother had kept urging her, and finally she had given in. But she felt too self-conscious to wear the lenses. She was certain everyone would laugh at her if she wore them to school. They would think she was fooling herself, trying to look good or something. So nobody noticed that Lynne had beautiful eyes.

  Mrs. Henry's friends all said the same thing—that Lynne looked exactly like her father. And that, Lynne thought moodily, still staring out the window, was clearly the kiss of death. Max Henry may have been a lot of things—clever, enterprising, ambitious—but when it came to the looks department, he wasn't much. Her mother had said as much.

  Lynne could barely remember her father. He had died when she was three. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes and concentrated really, really hard, she could remember hanging onto him, her little arms around his neck, while he sang to her. But she couldn't really remember his face. She had seen pictures, of course. And there was no denying it: she was Daddy's girl. Unruly hair, prominent chin, sallow complexion—the works!

  Still, Lynne knew she had gotten something else from her father, too. Though her mother didn't talk about him much, Lynne had overheard her telling a friend once that he had dreamed of being a musician before they got married. Having a wife and baby to support, he had given music up, taking a job in an insurance company. "But he kept fooling around with his saxophone," Lynne had heard her mother say. "He loved music."

  Maybe that was why Lynne felt so shy about her music around her mother. True, she had always begged for lessons. But the older she got, the harder it was to play in front of her mother. It seemed as if the magic disappeared the minute anyone else was around. Lynne hadn't even told her mother that she had gotten a job teaching guitar at the Music Center on Saturday mornings. It was her secret, and it was going to stay that way!

  With a start, Lynne realized that the bus was approaching her stop. She chided herself for being so absentminded and awkwardly got to her feet when the driver opened the door a moment later. "Excuse me," she said to Caroline, pushing woodenly past her.

  The bus stop was a five-minute walk from Lynne's house, and after she had adjusted her backpack, she set out with a feeling of relief. The ordeal was over; she was almost home. She was just beginning to hum the few bars of the song she had been working on when she saw someone who made the breath catch in her throat. It was him: Guy Chesney, the keyboard player for The Droids. Lynne flushed right up to the roots of her hair.

  Two weeks earlier, Lynne had watched Guy and The Droids perform at the Sweet Valley Centennial student picnic. Something had made Lynne inexplicably happy that day. Perhaps it was the beautiful sunny weather or the cheerful mood that pervaded the crowd celebrating the hundredth anniversary of the town's founding. Whatever it was, for the first time Lynne started to feel as though she belonged somewhere. But then The Droids began to play a love song. At that moment Lynne looked around her at the smiling faces of the crowd, and a wave of loneliness washed over her. As hard as Lynne tried to force away her despair, she felt herself being overcome. Instead of feeling part of the celebration, Lynne felt like an outsider who was watching the festivities but had no real part in them. Tears began to fall from her eyes, and Lynne found herself turning away from the bandstand and running away from the picnic, away from all of those happy people who made her feel so alone.

  "Hi," Guy said, falling into step beside her, looking at her with a faintly quizzical expression on his face.

  Lynne couldn't believe how cute he was up close. Her heart thumped wildly.

  Lynne knew Guy had moved into her neighborhood a few months before, and sometimes she saw him walking to or from school when she looked out the bus window. He must have left school earlier than usual that day to have gotten this far so fast.

  "You're Lynne, right?" he was saying, smiling at her. "I've seen you around at school, but I don't think we've ever met."

  "Uh—yes, my name is Lynne Henry," she said, all in a rush.

  He was smiling apologetically. "I really don't get to see very many people these days. The Droids and my parents—that's about it!"

  "It must be so wonderful," Lynne burst out, "playing with a group like The Droids!"

  Guy looked surprised. "Not many people feel that way," he said. "Not many girls, anyway. Most girls I know think music is OK as long as it stays in the background. But playing in a band . . . "

  "I think it's exciting," Lynne said vehemently. "What kind of music do you listen to when you're not practicing?"

  She couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to him. He was so easygoing, so relaxed. He was listing bands to her—many of them her own favorites—and in no time at all, they had reached her front walk.

  "What about female vocalists?" Lynne asked shyly, hating to end the conversation.

  Guy looked thoughtful. "You know, I like some of the mellow stuff. Linda Ronstadt was my favorite the whole time I was growing up."

  "I think she's great, too!" Lynne said enthusiastically.

  "You do?" Guy beamed. The next minute he was rattling off all the things he liked about the singer: the richness of her voice, her lyrics, her range. Lynne just listened, enthralled. Guy really seemed eager to talk about music, she thought. She barely said a word, and yet, several minutes later, he seemed to mean it when he said it had been good talking to her.

  As she watched him walk away, she hoped she would run into him again—and soon.

  Humming to herself, Lynne unlocked the front door and let herself inside. The Henrys' tidy front room was filled with amaryllis, her mother's favorite, amaryllis. Lynne barely noticed the flowers as she tossed her jacket over the banister and strolled into the kitchen to fix herself a snack. She loved this time of day. Her mother wouldn't be home for another hour and a half, and Lynne had the house to herself. It was so peaceful. All day she'd dreamed of this. Finally, finally, she was home.

  But Lynne didn't feel quite as glad as usual for the anticipated peace and quiet. Taking a sandwich upstairs, she wondered what it was that felt different that day. The small house looked exactly the way it always did, the sleek, handsome furniture, the rich Oriental rugs, and tasteful art creating a subdued, elegant effect.

  Lynne closed her door behind her and took a bite of her sandwich. Her gaze ran around her room. Everything was just as she had left it that morning, her canopy bed neatly made, her curtains rustling slightly in front of the open window. Setting her
plate down on her desk, Lynne sank down on the side of her bed, picked up her guitar, and cradled it in her arms. Then she tried an experimental chord.

  But the song she had been working on wouldn't come. Lynne sat quietly for a minute, trying to concentrate.

  She knew now what felt different. There wasn't anything different about the house; she felt different. She couldn't stop thinking about Guy Chesney, and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled.

  Lynne tried another chord, waiting for the music to pull her back into her familiar, solitary world. Instead, every chord, every bar, every note reminded her of him.

  "Guy," she said aloud, a flush coming to her cheeks as she pronounced his name for the first time.

  Three

  "Lynne!" Mrs. Henry called, her voice high with annoyance. "I've been calling you for the last ten minutes. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

  Lynne sat up, rubbing her eyes and blinking in confusion at her alarm clock. "I must've turned it off and fallen back asleep," she mumbled, groping for her glasses.

  "It's almost eight o'clock!" her mother added. She opened the door to her daughter's bedroom and frowned at Lynne. "I don't understand how a healthy teenager can sleep as much as you do."

  Lynne sighed. "I didn't go to bed until after midnight, Mom. I was working on—" She bit her lip. She didn't want to tell her mother what she had been doing. Actually, she'd been working on a song the previous night, and once she got started, she couldn't stop. But her mother wouldn't understand. Everything she did was on schedule. Looking at her mother right now, Lynne wondered how on earth they could even be related. Her mother looked absolutely stunning in a pair of crisp white cotton jeans and a black silk T-shirt. Lynne couldn't imagine owning anything white. She was so messy she knew it would be ruined the minute she put it on!

  "Why don't you get dressed?" her mother was saying, opening the curtains to let the early morning sun stream in. "I've got breakfast ready."

  "OK," Lynne said, hopping out of bed and grabbing the sweatshirt robe she'd rescued from the box her mother had been about to send to the Salvation Army. "I'll be down in a second."

  Lynne knew from experience that her mother's frown meant she was fighting for control. She probably wants to tell me to take some time with my appearance, Lynne thought, grabbing the rolled-up pair of jeans she'd thrown on the floor the night before and heading for the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom. But Lynne had given up on her appearance. A quick shower and a tug-of-war with her hairbrush was about all she could handle. She pulled her jeans on, noticing absentmindedly that they really were kind of baggy, and went back to her closet, grabbing the first sweatshirt she saw. It was dark green and said Ohio State on the front. Lynne loved sweatshirts. She knew no one could tell she had a figure under this kind of clothing, but that was the idea. Who'd want to look at a tall, spindly body like hers, anyway?

  Lynne looked at herself in the full-length mirror her mother had installed in her closet. "Pathetic," she told herself, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose and shaking her head from side to side. "Truly pathetic. Lynne Henry, you are too ugly to be human."

  "Lynne!" her mother called. "I've got to leave for work soon, and I want to talk to you!"

  Uh-oh, Lynne thought, grabbing her notebook and reading through the words she had finally settled on the previous night before she'd fallen asleep. The song was called "Thinking of Him." She sang an experimental bar or two, as she dawdled on the stairs.

  "I never thought I'd be the one to say

  A day is something more than just a day . . . "

  "Lynne!" her mother called warningly.

  "Coming, Mom," Lynne called back, bounding down the last few stairs. "Sorry," she added hastily as she slipped into her chair at the table. "I got ready as fast as I could."

  Mrs. Henry's eyes were filled with concern as she regarded her daughter. "Honey," she began, obviously trying hard to say the right thing, "I want you to come to work with me this Saturday and let me have Rhoda do something with your hair. I know you don't like being fussed over, but, sweetheart, it really—"

  Lynne felt her chin sticking out the way it always did when her mother started in on her. "I like my hair," she said fiercely. "And I don't want Rhoda putting that goop all over me the way she does on everybody."

  Her mother's expression began to darken slightly. "You know, Lynne, you're making a statement to other people with the way you look. You're telling them you don't care about yourself. If you'd just take a little bit of time . . . "

  Lynne felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I know I'm no beauty, Mom," she said roughly, pushing her cereal bowl away in disgust. "You don't have to keep harping on it all the time. I'm not dumb. I understand you loud and clear!"

  Mrs. Henry hesitated a moment, then said softly, "It isn't just your hair or your clothes. Honey, I'm worried about you. Your grades haven't been as good as they could be, either. If I hadn't woken you up, you might have missed class this morning because you overslept—"

  "I have study hall first period, anyway," Lynne interrupted. But she felt a twinge of guilt. Her mother was right. Her grades weren't that great. Mostly C's and B's, when she knew she could do much better if she really wanted to. But Lynne liked staying in the background. Why should she make an effort when it was so much easier just to be average?

  "I don't like the thought of your staying up night after night, working on those songs of yours," her mother went on, not looking at her. "If it's interfering with your sleep, keeping you from getting to school on time—"

  Lynne's eyes blazed. "Those songs of mine," she said angrily, "don't interfere with anything."

  Mrs. Henry bit her lip. Her pretty face was filled with love and worry. "Lynne," she said softly, "don't shut me out. Don't get angry with me. You put that wall of yours up, and there's no way I can touch you!"

  Lynne felt her chin sticking out again. She couldn't help it. Her mother made her so mad sometimes!

  "I can't drive you to school, I'm afraid," her mother added, looking anxiously at her wristwatch. "I'm already five minutes late. What are you going to do? You've missed the bus."

  "I'm going to walk," Lynne said, grabbing her backpack and shoving her notebook inside.

  She had planned on walking anyway, she reminded herself.

  Once outside, she took a deep breath and began to calm down. It was a beautiful morning. Humming a few bars of her new song under her breath, she set off down the street, her backpack bouncing as she walked.

  At first she thought she was seeing things. Then she realized it actually was him. Again. Her heart was pounding.

  "Lynne!" Guy said, crossing the street to join her. "I didn't think you ever walked to school!"

  "I overslept," she admitted, smiling shyly at him. All her anger and irritation vanished, and suddenly Lynne wanted only to please. "What about you? Don't you ever take the bus?"

  "I like to walk," he told her, grinning. "The fresh air wakes me up—and I need it, especially since The Droids practice so late two or three times a week. I really need the extra time to get myself going in the morning. I'm a night person," he confided, looking right into her eyes as he spoke. "You know what I mean? I feel like I get my best work done really late at night, when everyone else is asleep."

  "I know exactly what you mean," Lynne murmured, thinking about her song.

  "Most people think I'm nuts," he told her, looking as if he really cared what her response was. "My mother, for instance, would do anything if I'd just forget about music. She wants me to be a doctor like my older brother."

  "You can't listen to her!" Lynne said warmly. Then she blushed, afraid she had been too vehement, but Guy looked delighted.

  "You really think I shouldn't? How do I know I'm good enough, though," he worried. "That's what really gets to me. If I don't make it in the end, after giving up so much . . . "

  Lynne remembered then what her father had gone through. She wished she knew Guy well enough to con
fide in him. She wanted to tell him that nothing was worth the sacrifice of a dream. But instead she just said again, emphatically, "You've got to stick with it, Guy. Besides, you are good. Really good."

  "You honestly think so?" he asked, his face lighting up.

  "I honestly think so," she said. She meant it with all her heart.

  Lynne felt as if she were walking on air for the next six or seven blocks. She couldn't believe how easy it was to be with Guy. He was so forthright, so eager to talk about himself and his feelings. It was as if they'd known each other for months, even years! Best of all, he didn't press her or ask her questions. That was what had so often interfered with Lynne's friendships. She hated being put on the spot. But Guy didn't ask her anything, yet he listened carefully to everything she had to say. Even better, he seemed to like her.

  "You're a wonderful listener," Guy said feelingly. "You know, I've never met a girl I could talk to like this."

  "I love hearing about music," she said, staring at the ground. "I guess I've never really known anyone I could ask about what it's like to play in a real live band!" Her eyes shone behind her glasses. "I can't believe how lucky you are," she added shyly.

  Guy looked as though he was about to answer when a sudden blast from a car horn made them both look up in surprise. It was Jessica Wakefield, waving wildly at them from the driver's seat of the little red Fiat Spider the twins shared. Elizabeth had a doctor's appointment that morning, and Jessica was alone.

  "Guy!" she called brightly, tossing her blond hair back so it shimmered in the sunlight. "This must be my lucky day! I've been trying to find you for days!"

  "You have?" Guy said, surprised.

  Lynne felt as if her feet were glued to the pavement. She couldn't get over how gorgeous Jessica looked in that shiny red sports car. She looked like an actress in a movie—her tanned skin, her perfect hair, her sparkling bluish-green eyes. Lynne would have given anything in the whole world to be Jessica Wakefield just then. It wasn't just her beauty, either, Lynne thought, Jessica was so confident. It was perfectly natural for Jessica to say she'd been looking for someone like Guy. Lynne herself would rather die than admit that she'd been looking for a boy! But Jessica made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.